


Splendor

by imaginedandreal



Series: The Virtch and Moir Fluff Fix [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Photos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 20:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17494937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedandreal/pseuds/imaginedandreal
Summary: Scott takes photos of his pregnant wife.





	Splendor

**Author's Note:**

> I saw that there was a trend to put more fluff and positivity into our tag, so that spurned me to finish a fic I’ve been writing for ages. Enjoy some TS (and baby-on-the-way) sweetness!

“Really?” A wry smile.

A fervent nod in reply. “Yes, T. Really. I mean, uh - unless you hate the idea.”

Pause. “No, I don’t _hate_ the idea, but...is it really _this_ that should be in the pictures?” A pensive rub of the belly, feeling the ripply movement of a buoyant future life.

Hand covers hand, stroking softly, reassuringly. The morning light is so warm and glowing, because it haloes around the vision of virtually perfect loveliness. In his eyes, at least.

“What do you mean by _this_?” He scoots nearer to her, removing the hand for a moment to wrap his arm around her, and returns his palm to where it was.

“Swelling. Cankles. Tiredness.”

She doesn’t sound regretful, only cautious, like the sun that’s shyly peeking into the window. His answering laugh is meant to comfort - a soft, placating sound.

“You made three mistakes.”

“Did I?”

She leans back against him, fitting her head onto his shoulder. Her fingers lace with his on the round top of her belly.

“It’s none of what you just described. Voluptuousness, not swelling. Strength, not cankles. Determination, even when you’re tired.”

An endeared sigh, and a turn of the head from her to land her lips on his cheek. “How do you just twist everything I say into the most positive...positivity?” Her word choice makes her giggle, and his laugh chases hers.

“It’s one of my jobs as your husband, to make sure you know how unbelievably gorgeous you look carrying our baby.”

“Always such a flatterer… ” she purrs in gratitude.

“You are beautiful. You’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet. Always, and no matter what. I just wish you would see yourself the way I see you, kiddo.”

“Okay, then. I’m all for it. Let’s do it. I’m curious to see how _you_ see me, as you put it.” A wide, sincere smile illuminates her face as she speaks, and his face mirrors it.

“I promise, you won’t regret it.”

 

The fancy professional camera turns out, bizarrely, more complicated than expected. Scott’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, camera unceremoniously lying in his lap. He’s leafing through the instruction booklet with a furrowed brow. Tessa is watching him from her cozy spot in bed. He appears completely lost.

“It’s weird that the instructions are all in Japanese,” he says nervously, flicking with the pages in vain search of understandable words. “I mean, yeah, this is a Nikon, but...I _know_ there should be an English booklet, because I’ve seen it there when I first unpacked it...hey, maybe the Korean translation will be easier?” He quickly rustles to find it.

Tessa chuckles and lifts her mug of green tea from the nightstand to take a sip. “Knowing how to order bibimbap doesn’t equal knowing Korean,” she laughs at her endearingly dorky husband.

Scott glances from the pages to the camera, muttering to himself as he struggles to make sense of the buttons and switches on it. “See, there are pictures here all over, but the point is that I have no idea what they _mean_!” In annoyance, he casts away the booklet and sets the camera aside, getting up to go sit next to Tessa.

She puts her hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” she says softly. “Don’t worry about it. We can always try later. But also, what if you just take a few snapshots on your phone?”

Scott’s face, having fallen a bit, brightens again. “You wanna do that? I thought you wanted to be, you know...more elegant. Not that you’re not elegant, of course, since it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing or if you have makeup on, I just thought you meant...more _dressy_ , for lack of a better word?”

That makes Tessa laugh softly, and his smile turns a bit sheepish. She shakes her head.

“I actually don’t care about all of that anymore. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want any silly clowning around with you pretending to blow my belly up like a balloon with a garden hose, or some formal get-up of me à la fertility goddess with a flower crown and an empire-waist dress. I want _us_ to look relaxed and happy most of all, right, Little One?” She gives her belly a fond caress.

Scott, who has pressed his own palm beside hers, hides his happy grin into her shoulder. The professional camera can wait. He’s going to make the best use of his own devices.

 

He likes to leave her little surprises to find. The intricate, complicated story of _them_ sometimes put him as a typical self-involved, inattentive teenager who, for all he had a big, kind heart, could sometimes be less than caring about his partner and best friend. Of course, that current of murky water has long since passed under their bridge. Now, he tries to subconsciously compensate for the lack of ordinary but touching gestures by surrounding her in such a cocoon of indulgence and adoration, that it might erase any memories she has of him as an adolescent jerk. He owes it now to her, his incredible wife who is hard at work creating and perfecting their so expected and wished-for child. And yet, even if she wasn’t pregnant, he would still love to pamper her, not because for what she is to him, but because she simply _is._

So it’s one night that he sees her shuffle into the kitchen, driven by a craving that’s strong enough to make her wander out of bed for a ‘midnight snack.’ Oh, he does teasingly admonish her later and makes sure she takes her vitamins and eats healthy, but he’s also there when she pushes herself to a fixation on all things _right_ and he has to remind her that loosening the laces on her discipline is necessary too.

 

The fifth evening in a row, the word _discipline_ flutters out of Tessa’s vocabulary like dandelion fluff in the wind. Scott feels how she gets out of bed, but he doesn’t show any of it, pretending to be deeply asleep. Nevertheless, he is unable to stop from smiling as he gives her a head start to arrive and see what he had laid out for her in the kitchen. (This night’s surprise is a big bag of Lindt chocolates, her absolute favorite. He’d set up the bag and a vase with a bright bunch of peonies and decorated the spread a bit while she was in her pre-sleep shower).

So he quietly enters the kitchen, to find his wife multitasking: tearing the bag of chocolates open while tearing up like a child who got a puppy for Christmas. In any case, she looks that level of thrilled at the moment. She’s so taken by surprise that she doesn’t look up at first, and that’s more than enough for Scott to again commemorate it on his phone.

Abruptly, Tessa glances towards the door, still chewing on the mouthful of chocolate that she already bit off. Her eyes are shining with happy tears and they increase as she holds out her arms to invite him to hug her. Wasting no time, Scott crosses over to her in two or three quick strides and gathers her close. Her first words are a wobbly array of whispered _thank you’s_ mixed with _I love you’s._ He’s nearly crying himself, simply because he’s so glad that he made her happy with this seemingly ordinary gift, these chocolates on the kitchen table.

She pulls back, but doesn’t give him much of an opportunity to gaze at her. The next thing he feels is her lips, sweet, chocolate-sticky, pressing against his. He’s hardly even aware that her mouth tastes like his surprise; he only tastes _Tessa, Tess, T -_ the heavenly flavor of kissing the love of his life. He drinks from her like he spent the day wandering in a desert without a drop of water.

They move apart to catch a breath, and Scott feels a similar joy to having finished the best routine ever, only it’s a hundred times better.

“Scott...I have no words. Do you even know what a blessing you are?” she murmurs tremulously. He rubs his thumb on her cheekbone and rests his forehead on hers.

“Aww, Tess, it’s just chocolate.” He purposefully amplifies the bashful tilt of his head, playing modest.

She shakes her head, her hands framing his face. “It’s not just chocolate. I’d say it’s the most thoughtful and caring and loving thing anyone has ever done for me, but even that can’t describe how much I’m grateful for having you as my husband.”

“I’d  leave a bag of Lindt for you to find everywhere you go, for the rest of my life, if you were to ask me.”

And he would. He’d do anything and everything; he’d both give her the moon and fulfill her smallest whim, the moment she asks for it. He has so much to do, to say, to express to her, now that they are finally and forever faithful to each other.

A tiny giggle slips past Tessa’s lips.

“You should have said that in your wedding vows. But I do also appreciate you offering.”

Their shared laugh fills his chest with indescribable warmth.

 

In time, Scott swings a drowsy Tessa into his arms and carries her back to their bedroom, depositing his precious armful softly on the bed. She lets go of the Lindt bag she’s still holding with hardly any protest, and he sets it on her bedside table for her to retrieve in the morning. Her answer to his goodnight kiss of her forehead is a sleepy ‘I love you.’

He lies close to her, hand resting on her hip, listening to her calm breathing.

_Life is wonderful_.

 

Scott wanders into the hallway near the bedroom, looking for Tessa to entice her with the suggestion to bake her something sweet. He hears her before he sees her, the little just-barely snoring-ish puffs of breath that indicate her having fallen asleep. She’s in her beloved reading nook, stretched out on the chaise longue in a pose of relaxation, a soft cashmere blanket half-slipping off her legs onto the floor, her book resting opened across her belly. He shakes his head slightly, with a rush of affection and amusement, and raises his phone at the scene, remembering to put it on silent so the click of the camera doesn’t wake her. Then, takes the book and places her bookmark carefully where she left off, putting it on the side table. Finally, he reaches to pull the blanket back up, tucking it more securely around her, and leaves the gentlest of pats on her belly as he straightens up. Satisfied with his contribution, he smiles to himself at her tiny unconscious smile and leaves her to nap some more. He has an important task to attend to - the baking of double chocolate muffins for when she does wake up completely and gets hit with a craving.

After a while, he’s just about to open the oven and check on his muffins, when he feels her shuffle up to him from behind and hug him. Her belly prods gently at his back, and he holds one of her hands to his heart. Neither of them say anything for a moment, but their heartbeats and breaths sync together as naturally as ever. On a fanciful whim, he imagines that their baby’s heart syncs up with them too, because the little one doesn’t move around so energetically this time.

“Thank you,” Tessa murmurs, half into his shoulder, half near his ear.

He rubs his cheek against her. “For what?”

“For being you.”

“Well, that’s the least I can do for you, T.”

He inhales, half emotional, half content. The sweet, homey smell of the baking and the warm oven and Tessa’s strawberry-scented shampoo tickle his nostrils.

_Life is amazing._

 

Tessa’s pregnancy in no way turns her into a damsel in distress - in fact, it inspires in her a work ethic overflowing with enthusiasm and creativity. Scott can only marvel at his dedicated, responsible wife - as he affectionately calls her, ‘The Little Engine that Could and Did, Everything Else be Damned.’ Sometimes, she even goes to visit him at his rink, to offer support and cheer on his little team of bright-eyed, talented teenagers.

One afternoon, while he’s coaching, he notices the out-of-place whispering from his students, and glances towards the direction that had wrested their attention away from class. There’s Tessa, sitting on the sidelines, watching the students with interest. He stares, completely not expecting to see her here today. Not that he’s unhappy, of course, but surely she had more important things to do than watch him march teenagers around the rink —

Tessa sees him looking at her with surprise and waves, with a playful grin. Then beckons him towards her, but she might as well not: he’s already skating towards her as fast as he can. He swoops in and leans to kiss her,  not caring in the least that his students are giggling and _aww_ -ing behind his back.

Tessa pulls away first. Her eyes sparkle like polished gemstones and her cheeks flush with pleasure and some amount of shyness. As if she were still the Tessa of the past, concealing her love for Scott, and not his actual wife, explicitly married to him.

“Hi,” she says, with a squeeze of his hand. His heart skips, and, for an instant, he’s no older than the very kids standing on the ice; he’s just a boy whose crush likes him back. It makes him giddy.

“Hey,” he breathes. Roses bloom on her cheeks. Looking at her makes Scott tune out everything - the chatter of his students, the muted _swish_ of the blades, the cold rink itself. Just him, Tessa, and their sweet baby who is safely sheltered within her.

“How are you?” It’s not just a routine pleasantry on Scott’s part - his first and last thought every day now is of his T’s comfort and well-being. Tessa, in her blithe fashion, waves a hand at that.

“Oh, I’m perfectly okay...that is, _we_ are.” She gives a fond glance down. “We just wanted to come watch Future Daddy create future ice dancing legends.”

“I’m very flattered,” Scott smirks at her, and tosses “Five minutes, guys!” over his shoulder.

However, one of his students, a talented thirteen year-old, skates right up to him and Tessa.

“Mrs. Moir!” she gushes, all but jumping in excitement. “Good afternoon, how are you?” Tessa laughs softly at the girl’s enthusiasm, and Scott shakes his head humorously.

“I’m great, thank you. By the way, just Tessa, please.”

His student beams, again. “And I’m Nina,” she introduces herself, and holds out her hand for Tessa to shake. “I just love you and Coach. You’re my favorite couple…” she gushes, but then her cheeks redden and she stammers. “Um, I mean, ice dancers, not just _couple._ Ugh, that came out so weird. I’m sorry.”

Here, Scott joins Tessa’s reassuring smile at Nina’s slight awkwardness. She is, after all, a fan, and fans older than her have been known to gush praises and stutter in their presence.

“Don’t apologize, Nina,” Scott says. “You’ve said everything right. Mrs. Moir and I really are a couple. No harm in speaking the truth.” He flashes a barely-there wink at his wife, and she reaches to lightly push him on the shoulder.  

Later, when the kids are getting back onto the ice, Scott once more pulls out his phone and snaps a quick photo of several boldest fans taking selfies and getting autographs from Tessa. He also takes one when Nina and her partner Liam ask Tessa for tips on their duet routine.

“Mrs. Moir, can you tell us if our edges are clean enough?”

“Oh...sure! Show me,” Tessa says, with unexpected modesty. Scott is endeared, once again. Tessa Virtue Moir, an Olympic medalist and world-famous ice dancer, was still sometimes so shy when she was treated like a celebrity.

He manages to sneak in a few shots of her watching the students execute their movements, and then give them a few words of advice, which they soak up with awed expressions and sincere thanks. It’s at this moment that Tessa perfectly blends these two sides to her multitude: the mother-to-be and the professional athlete, and that duality shines from the photos he takes.

_My God, am I in love with her,_ is all Scott can think of, admiring her like he’s one of those fans too. Which he absolutely is. Her biggest admirer, now and forever.

 

Another time, Scott glimpses her working avidly, from her small, tidy office at home. She was sitting, chatting away on the phone, giving instructions and going over plans, discussing the sale of her new jewelry line, and pointing out tips regarding future collections.

When she’s done with her calls (and he has a couple of cute shots of her all hair-in-a-bun, rolled-up-sleeves, talking-business), Tessa devotes attention to her jewelry piece sketches. She doesn’t seem to mind or even notice her husband’s presence that much, while appraising the colorful self-made drawings.  

“Hmm...is this too basic?” she mutters to herself absentmindedly. Scott is just prepared to sneak in another photo of her adorable concentration, but then -

Tessa’s face brightens, and not from her examination of the necklace picture. “Oh? You like that one, baby? You think it’s gonna sell?”

Her palm on her belly and her delighted tone tell Scott that their baby wants to weigh in on her mom’s design. Meanwhile, Tessa laughs softly, rubbing the spot on her abdomen where the baby undoubtedly kicks.

“Okay, okay, I hear you, sweetie. Mommy’s definitely including that in her new collection.” Scott, for his part, has to focus extra hard on getting a sweet photo of the scene, because of his sudden misty eyes, but he does his best, capturing all the simple, unvarnished beauty: Tessa in casual clothes, having this moment with their child, him witnessing it.

“Oh, Scott, come feel it!” she invites then, and he’s unable to resist, abandoning his phone on the armchair in which he was sitting. He sidles up to her on the couch and his hand joins her, both of them laughing in pure joy at the show that their almost-here baby daughter is putting on for them.

_Life is perfect,_ he thinks, kissing Tessa’s cheek, awash with heart-fluttering love.

 

He keeps searching for ways to pamper Tessa, and a genius idea strikes him another day. She has been complaining of late that she’s gotten so big that she couldn’t see her feet anymore. He takes that to mean that she wants to get a pedicure.

As soon as he’s home from work, he’s stricken with the inspiration to make the best pedicure ever happen for her (Tessa, overriding his protests, said she would go to work as usual, but with the compromise that she’ll go for only half the day). After washing and changing, Scott pulls up his laptop, opens Google and resolutely begins typing: _How to give a pregnant woman a pedicure._

The results that pop up are, to say the least, different that what he’s searching for. The first article is titled _How to give a pregnant woman an erotic massage._ Rolling his eyes, he scrolls further. _How to have sex while pregnant._ The next article is similarly themed, and then there are two articles concerning regular massage, and one about the giving of hickeys.

Scott snorts, and goes back to revise his query: _How to get a pedicure_ _at home._ Finally, he finds an article that’s not needlessly explicit, and about his topic of interest. He makes a couple of notes and plans to get some necessary supplies later on.

“Moir boy! I’m home!” comes a call from the hallway, accompanied by the thud of the door and two smaller thuds from her shoes. Scott hurries to close the browser page he’d been looking at and sweeps any other giveaways out of sight. In waltzes Tessa, pink-cheeked and chipper-demeanored. She sinks onto the couch and drapes her legs in his lap.

“We’ve sold so much inventory, and it’s not even Christmas shopping season,” she shares happily. “It’s the best when the business starts really getting going, isn’t it?”

Scott smiles back sincerely, infected with her excitement.

“That’s awesome, T,” he agrees, and automatically moves to start massaging her feet. A tiny hint of protest appears in her expression, but she shrugs after a pause, and nods at him to continue, gesturing to him not to remove her socks.

“If you don’t want me to…” he begins, unsure.

“Not to change the subject, but I haven’t had a pedicure in about a century, it feels like,” Tessa complains. “I’ve left it so late, and I really should make an appointment as soon as I can.”

_You’ve already made one,_ Scott thinks, fighting a sneaky smile, and rapidly comes up with other things to discuss to take her mind off pedicure appointments, without her noticing. Fortunately, she seems to forget all about it until the following weekend.

“Shit!” Tessa exclaims out of the blue, as soon as she’s finished her dinner, that very Sunday.

Scott, caught off guard, leaps out of his seat and to her side in a flash.

“What? The baby?” He stares at her with apprehension, as if he expects the baby to shoot out of her any second.

Tessa sinks back into her chair and rubs his shoulder reassuringly. “No, no, it’s okay, sorry...it’s just I only now remembered that I wanted to have a pedicure, but I never did call the salon last week...and ugh, I _really_ wanted one,” she says in clear disappointment.

Scott, catching his breath after he sees that her concern is not baby-related, smirks. Her ‘ _really_ wanted a pedicure’ sounds adorably like her having used to say that she ‘ _really_ wanted dried cranberries’ and other unexpected cravings. It takes him right back to the second trimester middle of the night trips to the kitchen (and twice to the store).

“Whatever you want, you get, Mrs. Moir.”

To that, Tessa blinks at him, a silent _What do you mean?_

He knows what, and she’s about to discover where he had been sneaking off to the whole day.

And Scott proudly leads her to one of the rooms that serves as their informal exercise space. Here, Tessa does her prenatal yoga with the coach that comes over once a week (and here they used to do quite a bit of...spontaneous _workouts_ from time to time, if they felt exceptionally frisky, Scott thinks with amused nostalgia).

Tessa, he knows, isn’t reminiscing about their more colorful adventures tied to this room, judging by how her mouth opens slightly in astonishment, when she takes in the changes.

For tonight, he had cleaned out the whole room, pushed the treadmill and elliptical far to the side, and hauled the massage chair into the center. In front of it is an improvised foot bath consisting of a big plastic tub, and there’s a tall side table with magazines Tessa likes to read the most. Candles flicker and give off a subtle vanilla fragrance from the windowsill.

“This is...this is all for _me?”_ she finally whispers, like she can’t believe her eyes. Scott grins and nods.

“You wanted to get a pedicure, and get one you will, Virtch.”

“I’m not _Virtch_ anymore,” Tessa rolls her equally teary eyes, the humor overshadowing her surprise for a second. Scott chuckles and draws her into his arms for a moment, as close as her sizable belly allows.

“Thank you so much. You’re just so…” she searches for words. “Attentive. And caring. You’re just the best.”

“Anything for you, kiddo,” he replies, gently stepping away from her with a kiss to the forehead. “Now, get yourself comfortable.”

He means to return to the kitchen, just then remembering that he wanted to bring her some tea, but she doesn’t mind in the least, making a beeline for the massage chair. As soon as he helps her climb it, she sticks both feet into the perfectly-warmed water. A sigh of pure relaxation issues from her lips.

“That feels amazing,” she says quietly, and her eyes slip shut. Smiling at her genuine enjoyment, he leaves to the kitchen.

When Scott brings back tea for her, he sees Tess still with her eyes closed, a blissed-out smile gracing her features, and her feet gently lapping in the water. He imagines it must feel divine on her pregnancy-tired heels and soles. But more importantly to the moment, the perfect opportunity for a familiar task presents itself, so he sets the tea down quietly and takes out his phone. After two or three presses on the camera button, he pockets the phone and approaches her with the tea.

Tessa’s eyes open, and her dreamy smile widens. “Have I told you I love you?”

He shrugs playfully, and she sighs again. “So, I assume you want to show off your _new skill_ , right?” Her eyebrows quirk up when he pulls up a smaller chair to sit on.

“Is that doubt in your husband I hear?” he teases, and gently lifts one of her legs to dry the foot.

Tessa grins, before taking a sip of tea. “Take it away.”

Scott dutifully does, filing and buffing her toenails, massaging her favorite lotion into her soles. Her verbal and nonverbal appreciation gives him joy and fulfilment, to be able to do even such a small and mundane thing for her out of love.

“I’m almost jealous of myself right now,” she admits, watching him painstakingly paint each nail on one foot, then the other.

“Really?” He ups the modest expression, but his wide smile wins over.

“Is it weird that you look kind of hot painting my toenails?” That makes him laugh a bit, and he has to pause in order not to smudge the polish.

“I mean, if pregnant women crave strange food, it’s no big deal that they can have strange turn-ons.” Her answering laugh is the happiest sound.

“I’m very glad you get me.”

Suddenly, she’s leaning forward, and he’s leaving her freshly polished nails to stand and walk over to her and kiss her senseless. That is, until they erupt with laughter when the baby begins pummeling away inside her, like she’s scandalized at her parents.

“I’ll always ‘get you,’ T,” he tells her, lost yet again in her deep green eyes.

Her delicate palms frame his cheekbones. “And I’ll always be grateful.”

 

They do end up planning an actual photoshoot, featuring romantic flowy dresses and sappy gazes, and cute props like Tessa holding a “Baby Credit” sign with an arrow pointing towards Scott’s grinning self. It’s mostly done to appease the dear extended family, so they all can get the cooing and ooh-ing and ahh-ing and crying out of the way. Scott manages to master the complicated professional camera, though from the second try. His Tess deserves a chance to be a queen, a goddess for a photoshoot, not just a loved and cared for wife and future mother. So she meets this new idea with misty eyes and a bright bubbly demeanor, smiling directly into the camera, like she hasn’t been in the images on the phone. Those photos and the personal, intimate ones on Scott’s phone are equally meaningful, even if they are different.

They’ll post a photo sometime later - or rather Tessa will, on her Instagram - or they will not. It’s a fifty-fifty possibility. These photos are not the ones that are safely kept in Scott’s phone, for their eyes only. Not even the beloved moms will be in on the privilege of seeing them, but what they don’t know won’t hurt. As truly beautiful and meaningful as they are, the future parents prefer their own private little snapshots. Plus, the whimsical collection of ‘professional’ images is enough to tide Alma and Kate over until at least the next grandchild - judging from how both women shed unabashed tears of joy at the finished copies, touching them so lightly, as if they were sacred religious images.

 

Better still, even than Scott’s homemade photos of Tessa, are the ones he takes with his mind’s eye.

He is looking at her on an ordinary night. She’s sitting in their bedroom applying coconut oil onto her abdomen, one of the extra getting-ready-for-bed rituals as of late. Against the stretch marks, she says, but Scott finds the faint white stripes adorable and unique, because of the woman sporting them. Yet he doesn’t try to dissuade her from the coconut oil - it’s her body and her choice, even if their opinions on her marks differ.

The moonlight pours out of the window all over her, making her hair luster with ebony. Her eyes glow with a quiet contentment, a smile is playing around her lips, and Scott can see that it’s because her gentle sweeping movements must have woken the baby into a conversation with her mother. His phone battery had just died, and he would be disappointed that he can’t capture her the way he had done so many times already, except he’s not. In looking at Tessa right now, he knows that he can use the camera that has a never-ending memory capacity: his gaze and his heart.

He can’t take his eyes off her. If anyone ever told him that he would someday see her more beautiful than even on their wedding day, he’d laugh in disbelief, but there she is. She’s just perfect - soft, well-worn pajamas, coconut-oiled skin, messy braid, and all.

She is pure splendor.


End file.
